Part 1The Divorce Test

On my first day of kindergarten, my mother pulled out a small, green booklet.

"Hazel, from now on, only Mommy will be picking you up after school."

I instantly understood what that meant. Crying, I ran forward and hugged my father, who was packing his bags.

"Daddy! I don't want you and Mommy to get a divorce!"

"I want to ride on Daddy's shoulders! I want to go to the amusement park with both of you!"

But no matter how much I begged, the father who usually spoiled me rotten just yanked me away with a dark expression and walked straight out the door.

My classmates constantly mocked me for being a fatherless child. They threw my backpack in the trash and stuffed my lunchbox full of disgusting bugs.

Even the teachers repeatedly punished me, making me stand in the back of the classroom because my test papers were missing a father's signature.

Through all those hardships, I finally managed to get into my dream university. When I excitedly returned home holding my acceptance letter, I heard my mother talking on the phone:

"Arthur, you can move back in over the next couple of days. That way, I won't have to sneak around behind Hazel's back to see you every day."

"Her grades are outstanding. Our test can finally come to an end."

"You used to spoil her so much, I was worried she'd turn out wrong. It seems that taking away one parent's love really did make her much more self-reliant and well-behaved!"

Watching my mother slip her marriage certificate back into her wallet, I finally understood.

The so-called "divorce" was nothing but a fraudulent scheme they deliberately orchestrated to test if I could become independent.

All those years of suffering through slander, abuse, and bullying—it was all a massive joke.

Since they loved fake divorces so much, I decided to give them a real one. Let me help you finish what you started!

* * *

Seeing me walk in, my mother hurriedly hung up the phone.

"Hazel, you're back? Come here, Mom has some great news for you."

Looking at the fake smile plastered on her face, and recalling the conversation she just had with my father, a wave of intense nausea washed over me.

"Hazel, Mom has decided to get back together with Dad."

"Haven't you always wished for Dad to come back and be with you? He's coming home in a couple of days, and our family will never be separated again."

Having my father come home had indeed been my deepest wish since childhood.

On my first day of kindergarten, just because I refused to eat a single bite of vegetables during dinner, my father suddenly threw down his chopsticks, stood up, and started packing his bags.

"Hazel Sterling! When are you going to fix this terrible habit of being a picky eater?!"

"How many times have I told you, your father hates picky eaters! Are you only going to be satisfied when we separate?!"

My mother, who was usually so gentle, immediately pulled back the hand that was about to serve me a piece of meat and roared at me.

I was so terrified I didn't dare move a muscle, staring blankly as my father packed his luggage with a furious scowl.

My mother stood to the side with her arms crossed, looking thoroughly disappointed in me.

That was the first time I had ever seen such terrifying expressions on my parents' faces. It felt like I had committed a heinous crime to warrant such coldness.

But I was just full; I wasn't being picky.

It wasn't until my mother pulled out that small, green booklet—the official divorce certificate—that I finally understood.

My parents were divorced.

Actually, there had been warning signs before this.

Before that day, if I did even the slightest thing that displeased them—maybe waking up a minute late, or not brushing my teeth long enough—they would throw their red marriage certificate on the floor, stomp on it repeatedly, and scream at the top of their lungs that they were going to turn the red booklet into a green one.

They didn't hit me or curse at me, but they would cry and threaten me, filling me with immense fear and guilt.

"Hazel, the moment the booklet in Mom's hand turns green, you'll become an unwanted child!"

"If you don't want everyone to know that you destroyed this family, then you better behave and make things easy for us!"

Yet, after every screaming fit, they would instantly revert to their usual calm, gentle selves.

They would even hug me tightly and apologize, looking heartbroken.

Over time, in order to make them completely worry-free, I learned to be incredibly harsh on myself from a very young age. I tried with all my might to mold myself into the perfect child they desired.

Because only then would my mother take me to buy the cupcakes I liked. Only then would my father let me ride on his shoulders at the park.

And only then would this family remain whole.

But all my efforts were ultimately destroyed over a single bite of vegetables.

I cried until I couldn't breathe, clinging desperately to my father's leg, apologizing over and over again.

But he just yanked me away with a look of absolute disgust.

My mother also looked impatient. She covered her ears and snapped:

"What are you crying for?! It's not like we're dead! You still have Mom to live with."

But things were far from as simple as they made it sound.

From the moment my father walked out that door with his luggage, I never had another day of peace.

Overnight, everyone found out about my parents' divorce. But instead of anyone showing me sympathy, they all came to scold and mock me.

"You're the one who drove your dad away, aren't you? What a jinx!"

"Hazel is an unwanted orphan! Let's not play with her!"

The ignorant malice of children is the most immeasurable and the most hurtful.

They threw my backpack in the trash and deliberately filled my lunchbox with disgusting bugs to terrify me.

Some classmates even pushed me down the stairs when I wasn't looking.

And it was all just because my family was broken. In their eyes, that made me a freak.

If the children were that cruel, the disdainful looks from the adults left me even more helpless.

The teachers automatically categorized me as an unruly, bad kid and constantly made things difficult for me.

"Why doesn't this test paper have signatures from both parents? Go stand in the back of the classroom!"

"Your reading voice wasn't loud enough this morning. You're staying after school to read for an extra hour!"

I tried to defend myself several times, but no one wanted to listen to me.

I wanted to go home and pour out all these grievances to my mother, but looking at our desolate home and my mother's constant sighing, I couldn't bring myself to say a word.

I just told myself to endure it, to work a little harder.

Maybe if I did, my father's heart would soften, and he would come home.

I turned my grief and anger into motivation. Finally, on the day I got accepted into my dream university, my father decided to return.

But the happiness I had anticipated didn't arrive. Instead, I felt an overwhelming sense of disgust.

I had been treated as a joke and mocked for so many years.

And from the very beginning, it was all just a fraudulent scheme targeting me.